


Making Magic

by clgfanfic



Category: War of the Worlds (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-21
Updated: 2013-02-21
Packaged: 2017-12-03 03:56:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/693825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clgfanfic/pseuds/clgfanfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes you have to make your own magic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Making Magic

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published in the zine Green Floating Weirdness #14. This story was written as a round robin story. The following authors participated: I.C. Burnet, Laura Grigsby, Gillian Holt, Ingrid Maack, Jody Norman, and Chris Ueberall. The opening of this story was written by Gillian Holt and the ending by Jody Norman.

_"Paul, magic is something we make ourselves."_

 

          Harrison Blackwood watched the members of the elite Special Forces Omega Squad file off the troop truck.  He frowned.  Their weapons dangled loosely in their hands, and their shoulders sagged lower than their despondent expressions.  Silently the scientist counted until Ironhorse stepped down.  The colonel was always the first on the truck and the last off.  The astrophysicist felt his chest tighten.  Three of the Omegans were missing.

          "Paul?" Blackwood said quietly, stepping in next to the officer as he marched toward the coach house where the soldiers were quartered.

          When the colonel made no reply, Blackwood reached out and gently grabbed his arm.  Ironhorse stopped, his head snapping around.  His eyes widened as he noticed his friend for the first time.

          "Harr—?"

          "What happened?"

          Ironhorse's black eyes followed the remaining soldiers as they filed tiredly into the smaller house.  A slight tremor shook his body.  "We lost three," he said in a whisper.  "I have to go talk to the men."

          Blackwood allowed his hand to climb up the soldier's jacket sleeve, his fingers encircling his friend's shoulder.  "That can wait a little while," he said, adding hastily when the colonel's eyes narrowed, "Until you're cleaned up.  How did it happen?"

          Harrison directed Ironhorse toward the Cottage, surprised when he met no resistance.

          "A malfunction.  One of the choppers.  The aliens were on the run.  We had the time.  It should've been easy.  The aliens escaped."

          "And the Omegans?"

          "We lost three and two Delta Force crew members."  They stopped at the front door of the government safe house, Ironhorse's anger exploding.  "It was a goddamned mechanical failure!"

          "I'm sorry," Harrison muttered, unable to offer any other consolation.  Reaching out, he opened the door, and guided the soldier inside.

          "It was a waste, Harrison.  A goddamn waste.  They were good men."

          "I know."

          He'd let Ironhorse talk him into staying behind because he was still recovering from a pair of cracked ribs, compliments of a alien-blended human's crushing bear hug.  If Ironhorse hadn't arrived when he had…

          Blackwood pushed the image away.  It was over.  He was alive and relatively unharmed.  But he shouldn't have let Paul talk him into staying here.  If he'd been along, maybe—

          They paused at the door to the colonel's office.  "I'd— I'd like some time alone," Ironhorse said.

          Blackwood nodded, and with a final squeeze of the man's shoulder, left, taking refuge in his own office.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Harrison stopped outside Paul's door, but didn't knock.  If Ironhorse wanted a little time and space to work through his grief, the least Blackwood could do was give it to him.

          He turned, but couldn't force himself to walk away.

 _The situation itself isn't new_ , Blackwood argued silently.  He turned back to the door. _Ironhorse has lost men under his command before.  Other Omegans.  Granted, it's ironic,_ tragic _that a mechanical failure was the reason, but surely two days is enough time…_

          Blackwood sighed softly.  Who was he feeling sorry for, Paul or himself?

          Services had been held for the three Omegans early that morning.  Their bodies had been sent home for burial, but the squad and the colonel needed to honor their fallen comrades in their own fashion.

          Blackwood, Suzanne, and Norton had joined the soldiers, watching as a presentation was made to three neatly folded flags.  A three-gun salute and taps followed.  When it was over, Ironhorse excused himself and disappeared into his office, refusing to come out for lunch.  Now it was nearly time for dinner and Blackwood was determined that the man was going to eat – one way or another.

          He stared at the closed door, then took a deep breath, held it, and knocked softly, calling, "Paul?"

          "I'm busy," was the muffled reply.

          "Not good enough," Harrison said quietly, reaching out to turn the knob.  Stepping into the unlit room, he found Ironhorse seated at his desk, staring at the empty polished surface.  To one side, three envelopes sat waiting to be mailed.

          "Paul?"

          Ironhorse looked up.  "Harrison, please, I—"

          "I know you think you'd rather be alone right now," Blackwood acknowledged.  "But I think you're lying to yourself."

          Ironhorse's eyes closed.  "It's not the deaths, Harrison.  God knows I see enough of that."

          "Then what?" the scientist asked, slipping into the chair sitting in front of the polished oak desk.  Reaching out, he rested his hands on top of Ironhorse's desk, the tips of his fingers nearly touching the soldier's where they were splayed against the cold wood surface.

          The black gaze rose to meet the astrophysicist's blue, a wayward lock of black hair falling across Paul's forehead.  "Sometimes I just get lost in the memories," he said quietly.  "Sometimes they're so damned real I can't remember which ones are in my head and which ones are happening around me."

          Harrison swallowed.  "And this situation reminded you of something?"

          Ironhorse looked away, his eyes fixing on a photograph taken in Vietnam, just one of many that decorated his walls.  He studied the image.  He was one of twelve men, including Derriman, who stood beside the then Second Lieutenant Paul Ironhorse.

          "Talk to me, Paul.  Don't shut me out, please.  I want to understand."

          The soldier took a deep breath and held it for a moment, then let it out with a stream of words, so they wouldn't catch in his throat.  "My first real command in-country was a squad of newby Rangers.  Derriman was the only one who'd been around long enough to know his ass from a hole in the ground.  I was as green as those kids…"  He looked up, meeting Harrison's gaze.  "…and just as scared.  I knew I was going to screw up somewhere along the way and get some, or all, of them killed."

          "I find that hard to believe," Blackwood said.

          "It's true.  And our first few missions were hairy, Jesus, they were tight, but we didn't lose anyone.  Looking back, I know it was stupid, but there, in that situation, after a while when we walked into Hell and came out untouched, we started thinking we were… charmed.  That we _couldn't_ die."

          "And?" Harrison prompted when the soldier showed no signs of continuing the story.

          "One day we went in to pull out a unit that was pinned down in the bush.  They'd been in the jungle for five days, most of it trying to get to an LZ.  There were wounded, and everyone knew if we didn't get them out soon, we were going to lose that squad.  They found an extraction site, and we sent in a green chopper pilot.  He got shot down for his trouble.  We had to suppress the hostile fire before we could get other choppers in there, and we did.  We went in hot, but we were invincible…

          "We kicked ass, called in the choppers, three of them to get the squad and us out.  It was tight, real tight, but the pilots wedged those birds in and we kept Charlie back.  The squad loaded up and Derriman and I put down cover fire while our squad headed for the last chopper.  Charlie got a bead on us and started shelling.  Derriman and I had to run for one of the dust-offs with the guys we'd picked up.  Those pilots must've had a direct line to God that day, because the choppers were doing the impossible."

          Ironhorse shook his head, the wayward hair sticking to his sweat-damp forehead.  "Damned if we didn't get out," he said, a slight smile on his face.  "We were still charmed.  The flight back was quiet, until we hit the fog.  The pilot tried climbing out, but the ceiling was too high…"

          Paul reached up, wiping his hand across his face.  Blackwood noticed that it shook slightly.

          "I knew something was wrong.  I could feel it.  We dropped down, trying to get under the fog…"

          "And?"

          "One of the choppers hit the side of a mountain…"

          Blackwood felt his own eyes close.  "Who?"

          "My boys," Ironhorse said in a whisper.  "They died along with the pilot and the gunner."  Unshed tears stood brightly in the colonel's eyes even in the darkened room.  "They gave me a new squad, Derriman stayed on as my first shirt, but we lost the magic that day."

          "I'm sorry, Paul," Harrison whispered.  "I'm so very sorry."

          Ironhorse sucked in a breath, and pulled his hands away, folding his arms across his chest, walling himself away from the scientist.  "A fact of war, Doctor.  Nothing more.  Just like this accident."

          "But—?" Blackwood prompted, hearing the unspoken.

          Paul looked down at his desktop.  "We've lost the magic."

          "Colonel, I didn't think you'd give into superstition that easily," Blackwood chided gently, hoping to force Ironhorse out from behind his new defense.

          The dark eyes locked on the astrophysicist's.  "Call it what you want, Doctor.  Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to mail these letters."  With that, Ironhorse stood, scooped up three envelopes that sat at one corner of his desk and stalked out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

          Blackwood dropped back against the chair and sighed.  He'd blown it.  That had been the wrong thing to say, and it was too late to take it back.  He stood and headed down to the basement labs, looking for Suzanne.  Maybe she could help him undo the damage.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Three days since the services for the Omegans and the situation had reached the unbearable stage.

          Harrison and Paul had stopped speaking to each other.  In fact, the colonel wasn't speaking much with anybody.

 _Something has to be done_ , Suzanne decided, heading for the lake.  Ironhorse would probably be out there somewhere.

          She sighed, remembering her conversation with Blackwood and her subsequent encounter with the colonel.  She knew what Ironhorse thought had happened, and she didn't have an answer.  Regardless, she had to talk with him, reach behind his wall and get him communicating.

          The lonely figure sitting near the lake made her heart ache, and for a moment she could see a younger Ironhorse, a young lieutenant who had just learned that he wasn't invincible, that no special spirit protected him – or, worse, that the spirit, the magic, had deserted him.

          The image faded, and she was staring into Paul's dark eyes.

          "Something happen?" he asked.

          "Not yet, but something has to happen, soon, or everything we've been fighting for is going to be lost."

          He frowned.  "What do you mean?"

          "Your behavior."  She forced herself to hold his gaze.

          He drew himself up taller and straighter, the corner of his mouth turning down. "And what's wrong with my behavior, Doctor?"

          He wasn't going to make it easy, so she decided to be frank.  "I appreciate your position, but—"

          The frown shifted into an unemotional mask.  "So you're here checking if I've really lost my mind or just broke."

          It was a statement, but she took it as a question.  "I'm doing my job, my job as your friend.  We know you're hurting, and you have every right, but what's the point of hurting your friends?  We care about you."

          He didn't answer.

          "Talk to me, Paul, please."

          "So you can tell me I'm nuts?"  He looked skeptical.  "Why?"

          "Make me understand."  She touched his arm.  "Please."

          The soldier sighed.  "Like I told Blackwood, I've lost the magic, just like I did in 'Nam.  I know that might sound strange to you, but—"

          Suzanne nodded.  "Okay, I can accept that, but you went on.  What's the difference here?"

          She could tell from the far-away look in his eyes that he was in 'Nam again.

          "I don't know how many men I lost after that crash, Suzanne.  But it was a lot.  A lot of good men.  Friends.  I couldn't protect them, not anymore."  With a shiver he returned to the present and focused on her.  "It's a fact of war.  People die.  If you let yourself get too close to anyone—"  He broke off, then shook his head.  "It's just not smart."

          "If you believe that, why are you walking around like it's doomsday?  You've lost men before, Paul, and you went on, even without the magic."  She knew she sounded cruel, but patience and understanding hadn't worked.

          "I was thinking."

          "That's not necessarily a good thing," she chided.  "You once told Harrison you didn't think, you reacted."

          He glared at her for a moment, then turned, watching the tiny waves move across the surface of the lake, pushed along by the ocean breeze.

          "What were you thinking about?" she finally asked like nothing had happened.

          No answer.

          Suzanne refused to take the obvious hint and leave.  "How to restore the magic?" she ventured.

          He turned, facing her again, his eyes unreadable.  "That's enough, Doctor."

          She could feel the threat in every word, and chose her reply carefully.  "I'm not laughing at you or your beliefs, Paul.  I'm just trying to understand."

          "You don't believe me."

          "As a psychologist I should believe that it's all in your mind.  If you believe in failure you fail; if you're afraid that something will go wrong, it will."  Suzanne smiled.  "Easy, isn't it?  But I know there's more, events you can't explain, feelings you can't understand.  Being here, fighting against the aliens, has taught me that.  Look at Harrison.  How does he always know?  How is Sylvia connected to them?  I do believe in luck, Paul, maybe even destiny.  Why shouldn't we use the word 'magic,' too?"

          He remained silent, staring at the ground.

          "Paul?"

          "I'm thinking about leaving," he said, then started off.

          "What?"  Suzanne caught his arm.  "Why?"

          "Maybe—"  He stopped, then said, "A new commander would have a fresh perspective."

          She took a step backward.  "You don't believe that, Paul.  You can't."

          The Cherokee shrugged.  "I'm not fit to lead this mission."

          "I don't believe that."

          "Can't you understand?"  He reached out, resting a hand on her shoulder.  "We've been lucky, damned lucky, but now…  Who's next, Suzanne?"  He stopped, flushing.

          She looked at him evenly.  "We've all known all along that we might get killed."

          Ironhorse nodded.  "I know.  But, you're like— like family to me.  If there's the slightest chance that I might not be fit to command—"

          "Why?  Why aren't you fit for command?  For heaven's sake, Paul, it's natural to grieve."

          "I'm not talking about grieving, Suzanne."  He took a step back.  "Regardless of what you might think, if I can't find a way to restore the luck, I can't stay.  I don't want to lose you.  Any of you."  The last came out scarcely more than a whisper.

          "That works both ways, Paul.  We don't want to lose you, either."

          He smiled bitterly.  "I can't take the risk.  If anything should happen to Debi…"

          "I think you're making a bad decision, Paul.  Have you said anything to Uncle Hank?"

          "I just asked him to have a replacement ready in case something happened to me or I had to step down from the mission.  That's all."  One eyebrow rose.  "I only said I was thinking about it, Suzanne, not that I'd made a decision.  I want to stay, but—"

          "We need you here.  All of us – me, Debi, Norton, and especial Harrison."  She took a deep breath.  "Don't underestimate the power of love, Paul.  It's magic, too."

          She couldn't find the courage to look up at the soldier as she turned and walked back toward the Cottage.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          That night, supper was a quiet affair at the Cottage with just Paul, Harrison, Suzanne and Debi.

          "Is Norton joining us?" Harrison inquired.

          "He said he'd be up as soon as he can," Suzanne explained.  "He's got a lead on something, and that's all he'd tell me."

          Debi asked the colonel several questions during the meal, but even she could not draw him into a real conversation.

          Dinner done, Suzanne said, "Mrs. Pennyworth might not be here, but she did leave some of her famous strawberry shortcakes.  I'll get them ready and put coffee on."  She nodded at her daughter.  "And you can help me."

          With a sigh, Debi helped Suzanne clear the table, leaving Harrison and Ironhorse alone.

          Paul glanced at the scientist.  "I've been thinking I need a break.  I haven't seen Grace Lonetree in a while; I think I might visit her."

          Norton's entrance at the end of the soldier's statement interrupted any reply Harrison might have made.  "I've got it!" he crowed.

          "Got what, Mr. Drake?" Ironhorse asked suspiciously.

          "The aliens have been quiet for almost a week, but I just got a burst of transmissions less than a hundred miles from here."

          "You're sure about that?" Ironhorse inquired.

          "Come downstairs," invited the computer hacker, spinning Gertrude around and heading toward the elevator.  "I'll show you."

          The two men started after him, Harrison lagging as Suzanne joined them from the kitchen.  Her expression sobered when Harrison tilted his head, indicating the basement.  She shooed Debi off to her room, saying, "We'll do the shortcake tomorrow night, Chicken, all right?"

          Debi rolled her eyes and headed for the stairs.  "It's always tomorrow…"

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          The three Project members crowded over Drake's shoulder, staring at the computer monitor.  Norton's fingers flew across the keyboard.

          "Okay, a week and no activity, right?" he queried.

          When no one bothered to comment he went on.  "And now… this."

          He tapped a key and a series of alien communication traces appeared on the screen.  Norton tapped the screen.  "Watch.  When I put this on the map…"

          A series of concentric circles appeared on a map of California, nearly ringing Lake McClure.

          "Lake McClure empties into the Merced river," Norton said.  "Which—"

          "Is a tributary of the San Joaquin," Harrison finished as he peered intently at the map.

          "And that river's used by a lot of the farmers in the San Joaquin Valley to water their crops," Ironhorse added.

          "You think they might be planning to poison the water?" Suzanne asked the colonel.

          Ironhorse shrugged.  "There's no way to tell, but it's too much of a coincidence to let slide.  I'll get Omega ready to go."

          "I'm coming with you," Harrison said, following on the colonel's heels like a puppy.

          Ironhorse stopped, spinning around.  "No.  You're staying here.  I won't risk the security of this Project—"

          "On a superstition?" Harrison finished.

          Ironhorse's jaws twitched as he fought the urge to throttle the man where he stood.

          Harrison's eyebrows rose and he leaned forward slightly.  "I'm going, Paul.  We have to find out what the aliens have in mind, and I'm the best person for the job."

          "He's right," Suzanne said in support.  "And I'm going, too."

          "Five minutes, people," Ironhorse growled, then turned and stalked out of the room.

          "I think you pissed him off," Norton observed.

          "He's just feeling a little vulnerable," Suzanne said.  "It'll be all right."

          Harrison nodded.  "Besides, we really do need to find out what the aliens are up to.  The water systems are just too vulnerable to take any chances."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Harrison lay on his belly and strained to get the field glasses up so he could see what was happening at the lakeside dock.  With a grunt he dug his elbows into the ground and focused the binoculars.  Three aliens at the far end of the wooden platform, hunched over what looked like a shopping cart that had been modified by an electronics wizard gone mad.  Scopes, black boxes, dials, and switches hung from the sides of the cart, along with several plastic tubes that appeared to be connected to two grey canisters resting on the rack under the cart.

          "What are they doing?" Suzanne asked from where she lay next to Blackwood.  Nearby, three Omegans kept watch.

          "I can't really tell," Harrison said slowly.  "It looks like they're taking samples of the lake water and running tests on them."

          Before the astrophysicist knew it, Ironhorse slid in next to him, saying, "There are more aliens moving in.  Looks like about thirty.  Whatever they're up to, it must be important.  I want you to get back to the truck."

          "Colonel, I have to see what that thing down there is," the scientist argued.

          "There's no time, Harrison.  When it's over, then you can look."

          "If they don't destroy it," Blackwood argued.  "I have to get a closer look now, before—"

          "Goodson," Ironhorse snapped.  "Escort Doctors Blackwood and McCullough back to the Bronco and keep them there.  Use whatever force necessary."

          "Yes, sir," the medic replied, looking none too comfortable with the idea.

          Ironhorse nodded.  "Stein, you're with Goodson.  Franklin, with me."

          Suzanne and Harrison watched as Ironhorse and the young black corporal disappeared into the undergrowth that ringed the lake.  Blackwood turned back to face the two Omegans.  "Look, I'm the head of this Project, and—"

          "We have our orders, Dr. Blackwood," Goodson said.  "Let's keep this as pleasant as possible, okay?"

          Blackwood nodded, taking three steps back toward the Bronco before he bolted, disappearing into the foliage and heading out after the colonel.  Behind him, he could hear the soft but clear curses follow him.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Ironhorse's attack was well organized and took the aliens by surprise.

          "They didn't know what hit them," Derriman stated later.

          Although the aliens outnumbered them, their defenses were weak, and the soldiers moved in smoothly, destroying all of them.  When the battle was over and they regrouped, the colonel found that the Omegans had suffered only minor injuries, and there wasn't even a scratch on the strange apparatus.

          Per their plans, three aliens were allowed to flee in a pick-up, Coleman and two others in pursuit.

          Ironhorse sighed.  It had been too easy.  Something was wrong.  He felt it with his whole being.  He keyed his mike.  "Coleman?"

          "They're heading south, sir."

          "Stay out of sight, but don't lose them."

          "Yes, sir."

          Ironhorse signed off as Goodson and Suzanne joined him on the dock and suddenly he knew.  "Blackwood?"

          "He… ran off," Suzanne answered before the medic could reply.  "Sergeant Derriman knows; he's looking for him."

          Ironhorse nodded, expressionless.  They wouldn't find Harrison.  Not alive, anyway, or he would've been studying the electronic cart right now.

          His radio beeped.  "Ironhorse," he answered around a tight throat.

          "They're heading into a building, looks like an abandoned hothouse.  Should we take them?"

          "No, wait for backup.  We're on the way."  His eyes locked with Suzanne's, reading the same trace of hope in her gaze that lifted his own heart.  "Stay here, take a look, we'll be back as soon as we can."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

 _Maybe this wasn't such a great idea after all_ , Harrison groused silently as he lost his balance again.

          He had escaped Goodson and Stein, and had wisely decided not to interfere with the attack itself, resolving instead to take a closer look at the abandoned truck he'd seen earlier.

          Unaware of Ironhorse's plan to let some aliens escape – hoping they might lead the soldiers to other aliens – Harrison was unprepared for the sudden return of the three Mortaxans.  With no other option for cover, he had climbed into the back of the pick-up and pulled an old tarp over himself.  He found himself a prisoner when the aliens closed the doors and started the engine.  He didn't know where they were going, but he was sure that the aliens wouldn't be happy to find a stowaway, or rather, Harrison certainly wouldn't like it if they did.

 _Great, Harry.  Right into their arms.  No one could have done it better_.  Cursing himself, Harrison crawled closer to the side of the truck – better to risk jumping and breaking his neck than be taken over.

          Given the speed of the truck, jumping would mean certain death.  He'd just have to wait until they stopped or slowed down and hope he was lucky.

 _Luck.  We do seem to have run out of it_.

          The image of Paul's face flashed through his mind.  _I've lost the magic._

 _I should've listened, Paul_.  He shook his head and pulled the tarp a little tighter, swaying as the van went around a curve.  _I swear I'll never do this again.  I was a real idiot.  But I'm going to have to get me out of here to prove it…_

          He settled down along the side of the truck.  The steady vibration dulled his mind, and he fought it off, trying to think of something to keep him alert.  Unfortunately, all he could think of was his impending death and how people would react to it.  Sylvia.  Uncle General Wilson.  Ex-girlfriends.  Childhood friends.  Teachers.  Norton.  Suzanne.  Paul.

          Strangely, Ironhorse's face showed no sorrow, only fury and blazing rage.  That image lingered with him until the pick-up came to a stop and Harrison had other things to occupy his mind.

          It seemed like an eternity before he heard a odd metallic noise, then the truck moved forward again into the darkness of a stuffy building.  The doors opened as the building doors were drawn closed again, sealing them in semi-darkness.

          Steeling himself, Harrison gave the aliens no time to react, standing, tossing the tarp aside and leaping from the truck bed.  He didn't notice the third alien until he crashed into him, sending them both into a stack of lumber next to the door.

          Rolling away, Harrison was jerked to a stop by the alien's grip on his jacket.  Shrugging out of the leather jacket with frantic speed, Blackwood searched for something he could use as a weapon.

          Finding a three foot long metal rod, he grabbed it and turned, thrusting it like a lance into the alien's chest.  Not waiting for it to melt, he attacked the next one.  That alien's reactions were faster, and Harrison found himself at a disadvantage and off balance when it grabbed the rod from the other end.

          Blackwood released the rod, and the sudden slackness sent the alien reeling.

          Glancing around, the scientist decided he was in some kind of old hothouse, the windows boarded up.  He lunged for the door, but was cut off.  He turned and ran until he found another door.

          Groping in the dim light, he pulled it open moments before his enemies reached him.

          Slamming the door shut behind him, Harrison turned the lock and raced into the room.  The extension seemed to be a bungalow of some sort, and the astrophysicist wondered who would build their home onto a hothouse.

          He heard voices, and paused, listening tensely.  The aliens were trying to batter the door down.  He searched the addition, finding an empty kitchen, bedroom, and bath.  There seemed to be no escape.

          With no alternative, he used the living room furniture to barricade the door, then armed himself with two knives from the kitchen – one to defend himself as long as possible and a smaller one to kill himself if necessary.

 _My knowledge must not become theirs_.

          He stared at the two blades, the implications shaking him to the core, and for a moment he saw Ironhorse beside him, approval shining in the dark eyes.  Pride replaced his fear, and Harrison knew he could complete the fatal act if he had to.  He would not disappoint the colonel again.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Sitting with his back pressed into a corner, waiting for whatever the future had in store, Harrison's eyes drooped and he fell into a state that was not asleep and not fully awake.

_Lightning flashed around him and thunder growled, but there was no rain.  The ocean lapped gently at the island he sat on, the water a deep green._

_A shadow moved across the sand, away from him._

_"Paul," the scientist whispered.  "Stay with me."_

_The colonel turned, black eyes blazing.  "They can't get you alive!"  His gun pointed at Blackwood's heart._

_"Don't, Paul," Harrison pleaded.  "Can't you feel it?  The magic's still here."_

_He made a tiny gesture and the flames left the dark eyes, creating a small fire on the sand between the two of them.  It crackled merrily._

_"We just have to reach out and take it, that's all," Harrison said, then smiled.  He was rewarded with a raised eyebrow._

          Shots and an explosion drove him fully awake, and Blackwood sucked in a deep breath, levering himself off the floor.

          When the door rattled, his voice was neutral, firm.  "Who's there?"

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          The Omega Squad moved through the large hothouse, making sure it was clear of more alien invaders, but the colonel wasn't with them.  He stood in the garage, staring at the leather jacket lying in a pool of slime.

 _Too late.  We're too late_.  Maybe this was all that was left of his friend, or maybe his body was still walking around as an alien in disguise, but it didn't matter.  He had lost.

          Ironhorse wanted to shout, to rail at fate, but couldn't find his voice.  He turned away, a wave of fury making him want to hit something, anything, but the strength rapidly drained out of him, leaving him weak and despondent.

          When the rage was gone there were no other emotions left to fill the empty space in his heart.  It was really over.  Without Blackwood they had lost.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

_We won this one!_

          Blackwood bounced past the lovely female sergeant, who, after checking him over, blood sample and all, had told him that the operation was a complete success – no casualties, no damage to the alien device, and no alien escapees.

_Paul will just have to accept that he was wrong.  We still have the magic.  It was just superstition.  Everything will go back to normal._

          But the moment Harrison caught sight of the colonel, standing achingly still in the middle of the now fully illuminated hothouse, his weapon dangling forgotten in his hand, he knew it wasn't going to be that easy.

          "Colonel?" he ventured, moving closer.

          No response.  Ironhorse didn't even seem to have heard him coming.

          Harrison took another step forward.  "Paul?"

          Slowly the soldier raised his head.

          Harrison took a step back, then stayed the involuntary motion, swallowing.  The dark eyes looking at him were the eyes of death.  "Paul?  Are you—?  What's wrong?"

          The scientist had a sudden feeling of déjà vu as the colonel leveled the gun at his chest.

          "Colonel, I know you're angry, but…"  Harrison paused, catching a glimpse of the pile of goo by the door behind Paul and the jacket lying in the middle of it.  Understanding swept over him.  "Paul, it's really me," he said, purposefully choosing the same words he'd used in New York.  "The one and only.  And I'd appreciate your not putting any new holes in me to prove it."

          But Ironhorse wasn't listening.  He was trying very hard to convince himself to pull the trigger, kill the alien standing there in Harrison's body, speaking with Harrison's voice, but his finger wouldn't obey.

          Harrison took another step backward.  "Paul?"

 _Kill it!_   The command echoed in Paul's brain.

          "Colonel!"  Derriman's voice brought Ironhorse back from the edge, and his aim wavered slightly as he focused on his sergeant.

          "Colonel, I checked Dr. Blackwood over," Coleman said, stepping up beside Derriman.  "He's human, sir."

          Derriman moved to his commander, his eyes holding Ironhorse's as he reached out and took the gun.

          Paul released the weapon, his shoulders aching from the coiled tension.  He nodded to the sergeant, then jerked his head, signaling them to go.

          Derriman stepped away, then, at Paul's glance, exited the room with Coleman in tow.

          Ironhorse turned back to Harrison, silent, his features under control, but his eyes fierce.

          "You're angry," Blackwood stated.  "That's okay."  Before he could continue he found himself shoved against the wall, the colonel's arm pressing hard against his throat.

          "Damn it, Harrison!  Can't you follow one simple order?  Do you _want_ to die?  I can arrange it, any time!  Angry?  No, Doctor, I'm not angry, I'm fuckin' pissed off beyond all reason!  And the next time you do something this stupid, I swear I'll put you out on the range and use you for target practice!  Do I make myself perfectly clear, mister?"

          Ironhorse's threats were lost on the scientist, who didn't hear a word he was saying.  An unexpected warmth spread through Harrison's body, centering low in his belly.  His legs would have failed but for the powerful grip that held him in place against the wall.  It was not the almost brutal force of that grip that warmed him, but the shaking hands.  And it was not the furious voice that cut through his soul, but the treacherous glistening of the ebony eyes and the emotion he saw in their depths.

          Suddenly the arm was gone, and so was the colonel.  Harrison sucked in several deep breaths, then stumbled after Paul.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          When he made it outside again, his legs still shaky, Harrison listened to Ironhorse barking orders to his men, sending them back to the Cottage with the captured equipment.

          "Blackwood's fine, Sergeant," Ironhorse told Coleman.  "Leave him to me."

          "Are _you_ all right, sir?" she asked.

          Blackwood had moved out far enough to see Ironhorse's flint-hard expression as he stared at Coleman.  Derriman, obviously acquainted with that look, quickly tapped the woman's shoulder.  "Come on," he said.  "Saddle up."

          Harrison didn't approach the colonel until the troop van had left for the Cottage.  "Paul, we need to talk."

          "No, Doctor, I do _not_ need to talk."

          Ironhorse turned away, but Harrison walked around to face him.  "Colonel—Paul—"

          "Get in the truck, Blackwood.  And don't argue with me."

          Harrison climbed into the Bronco and sat there, waiting while Ironhorse climbed in and started the engine.  He started to say something, but decided against it.  Besides, he had something to keep him occupied – sorting out his own tangled feelings.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "What?!"  Harrison stared at Suzanne, willing the words just spoken to be a nightmare retracted.  It was the next day, and Harrison had purposely left Paul alone, deciding that any talk would have to wait until the soldier was ready to listen.

          "He wants to leave, Harrison."  Suzanne hooked a lock of hair behind her ear, staring at him over her microscope.  "He's afraid that he…"  She hesitated.

          "That he's lost the magic," Harrison said impatiently.  "I know.  We've been through that.  But this mission was a success!  That should convince him he was wrong."

          Suzanne shook her head.  "We thought we'd lost you, Harrison.  That's not a successful mission."

          "But you found me!  Why isn't that a success?  Why can't he accept that he was wrong?"

          Suzanne sighed.  "Because he's not wrong, not by his standards.  He thinks he's lost the magic, and until he finds some reason to believe otherwise, he's going to look at leaving as an option.  For all our sakes."

          Harrison ran both hands through his hair, frowning.  Since he hadn't combed it since his last nap in the small hours of the morning, the end result was a wild mass of curls.  Turning, he stalked off.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Paul sighed as the footsteps drummed up the staircase.  There wasn't even a fractional pause at his closed door, Harrison bursting through it without even hesitating.  "Colonel, we have to talk."

          "Good afternoon, Doctor.  I don't believe I heard you knock."

          Harrison leaned over the desk, glaring.

          Ironhorse met the gaze dispassionately, refusing to give an inch, though the larger man loomed over him.

          "You're not leaving, Colonel.  You can't.  We need you too much."

          "Blackwood, I don't expect you to understand, but if we've – if _I've_ lost the magic, I'm not the right commander for this mission.  Not anymore."

          "To hell with that!" Harrison blazed.  "What do you mean, you've lost the magic?!  The mission was a success, Colonel!  The aliens are dead, we've got their stuff to study, and everyone's okay.  Not one casualty!  How can you sit there and say we've lost the magic?!"

          Ironhorse jerked to his feet, leaning forward to match glares with the scientist, the fierce gaze pinning Harrison with ease. "How can I say that, mister?  I'll tell you how!  I let you get taken by a truckload of aliens without even knowing it happened, that's how!"  The black eyes narrowed, staring into Harrison's blue.  "Do you have any idea how I felt, looking at a pile of green goo with your jacket in it?  I let it happen, and I didn't even know you weren't a damned alien when I saw you.  If I'm as out of touch as that, I shouldn't be here, lowering our effectiveness and endangering you and everyone else.  _That's_ why I say I've lost the magic, Blackwood! And that's why I'm resigning, effective two weeks from today."  He dropped back into his chair on the last words, looking away from the flash of panic in Harrison's eyes.

          "Colonel—"

          "No."

          "Paul, please.  For all our sakes, don't do this."

          "It's done, Doctor.  Now, if you don't mind, I've got a lot of paperwork to clear before my replacement arrives."

          Head bent, Harrison stumbled out the door, closing it softly behind him.

          Paul waited until the door clicked shut, then lowered his head, staring at the polished wood with eyes that wouldn't focus properly.  Damn it to hell.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

_It was a calendar, Paul realized.  A huge, checkerboard-like calendar.  He was standing on a section without a number, and he squinted up at the letters looming over him.  N - O - T - E - S.  The section where you listed all the things you were going to do in the month.  Looking across the board, he realized that all the squares up to the present day were lit in warm yellow.  As he watched, the next day darkened, a giant X blackening it.  He shifted feet, suddenly wishing he could sit down, and instinctively knowing he couldn't._

_The following day dimmed, another X shadowing it.  And the next._

_Ironhorse grimaced.  His knees felt weak, and he felt his shoulders sag.  He straightened, lifting his chin._

_Another day, another X.  And another.  And another._

_Paul stared grimly out at the field of squares.  Only a third remained unmarked, and he could feel his energy waning with every day.  His knees were shaking, and he couldn't stop them.  Nor could he move, and his neck and shoulders were so tired._

_Another day darkened, and another, and another._

_Paul went to his knees.  The shadowed squares marked off his days left at the Cottage, he knew.  With each day lost, his energy lessened, and he knew, with that peculiar certainty found only in dreams or in intense soul-searching, that his spirit, his very heart and essence, was in danger as well.  If he left the Cottage, left the team, he would leave a part of himself there as well, never to be regained._

_The thought had a peculiarly Indian horror to it, and Paul cringed.  But without the magic, if he stayed…_

_Grandfather, he whispered silently, what should I do?_

_What your heart tells you, grandson._

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "I never thought he cared about us," Harrison admitted simply, sitting out on the patio with Norton post-breakfast.  Suzanne and the colonel had already eaten earlier and retired to their respective work spheres.

          "Maybe he never expected to, either, Doc."

          Harrison brought his fist down on the table.  "It's not supposed to work this way!"

          "Hey, Doc, if I know you, you told him what he should do, not what you wanted or why.  Come clean.  Don't you like the big guy, just a little?"

          "No!  I mean, of course…  Well, yes, but…"

          "Sounds like you've got some thinking to do, Harrison," the hacker said, unsmiling as he wheeled off toward the elevator.  "Maybe you've been overlooking the obvious."

          Harrison watched him go, then slowly smiled.  "Yes!  That's what we need!  A field trip!"

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Paul rubbed his hands over his face, staring down at the piece of paper in front of him.  All it needed was his signature to make it official, and he would be out of the Project.  General Wilson hadn't liked it, but he'd said it was the colonel's decision, and he would back whatever he wanted.  But he urged Ironhorse to take the time to be sure, and right now Paul was tempted, terribly tempted, to do just that.

          Unbidden, the images of his nightmare sprang to mind, just as vivid as when he'd woken.  And then, when he'd firmly tucked them away into a corner and forced himself to close his eyes, another one had swept him away…

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

_A battlefield.  He was on another battlefield._

_He scanned it, eyes slipping over the men around him, checking their stances, their alertness, the expressions behind their eyes.  They fired steadily, carefully, all their attention focused on the enemy, ignoring him with a concentration that made him shiver, because it was wrong._

_None of them were even vaguely familiar to him, and he felt alone._

_The battle… it wasn't an old one from Vietnam, nor was it one fought with the Omegans, but it had a certain familiarity to it._

_Looking out, he saw one of the enemy fall with a well-aimed shot, and grimaced as it began to melt, green goo spreading sickly over the snow._

_Aliens._

_But where were the Omegans?  Where was Harrison, who was always beside him and whose drive and purpose could be counted on to be as punctual as the gunshots sounding around him now?_

_Where was he himself, if it came to that?_

_Looking around, he realized, a thrill of horror tingling through him, that his men were dying.  At first it was slowly, as the aliens found their range and location, then faster.  They dropped like deer slaughtered in the hunt, silent and focused to the end, and red pools stained the snow in which they lay._

_And still no one looked at him, or spoke to him, or acknowledged his presence in any way.  They just died, and he just stood there, the gun slack in his hands, knowing that the few shots he had left in its magazine could make no difference anyway._

_Now he stood alone on the battlefield, the aliens advancing, and he realized, watching them approach, that this was a future without the Project, after he'd resigned.  He had moved on, fighting the aliens with another well-trained team of soldiers, but… he had still lacked the magic, and their forays had been one long skirting of disaster._

_And now, as the aliens came within shouting range, stepping closer, he found in himself the strength, after the long months of fighting with strangers at his back, to pull the muzzle up to face them and fire off the last of his rounds._

_He watched them fall, others stepping into their place, then pulled the revolver from its sheath at his hip, and checked the magazine.  Six bullets.  He fired five, delivering five more human souls from a living hell, then lifted the gun and tucked it snugly under his jaw, comforted by its cold bluntness, and curled his finger around the trigger._

_The closest alien reached for him—_

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          And his alarm had gone off, rousting him out of a sleep that he was only too glad to leave behind.  He had thrust himself into the day with fervor, trying to leave behind the still horror of that battlefield and those aliens, and the red, red pools in the snow, and the ghastly green splotches that marked that relentless advance.

          He dropped the pen and rose, heading toward the kitchen, images of Mrs. Pennyworth's ginger snaps luring him to take a break.  Behind him, the unsigned piece of paper glimmered white in the light through the window.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Entering the kitchen, Ironhorse's eyebrows quirked as he came upon Harrison ruffling through a phone book.  Pouring himself a glass of milk and choosing a handful of cookies, he took himself to the kitchen table and munched, watching the scientist mumbling numbers to himself as he punched phone buttons.  He asked a few typically obscure questions, then hung up and bounced over to the soldier.

          "That's it!" he crowed.  "We're going."

          "Going where, Doctor?"

          Blackwood hunkered down next to him and whispered loudly, "It's a surprise!"

          Ironhorse sighed.  He hoped he sounded severe enough.  There was a part of him, he found, that enjoyed discussions of this sort right now.  Maybe it was because it felt so… normal.

          "Doctor—"

          "No, not a word, Paul.  We're going.  Right now.  Or at least," Harrison stood, peering down at the small pile of cookies, "as soon as you're finished, we are."

          The colonel's eyebrows went higher than before.  "Now hold on, Blackwood—"

          "Don't worry, Paul.  We aren't going far, and if you're going to say you have paperwork to do, don't.  As leader of this Project," Harrison lifted a hand in a grand gesture, "I hereby declare your paperwork null and void.  So let's go!"

          "Security—"

          "Colonel, Colonel, are you going to say that you're not security enough to guard me?  Now come on!  Time's a wasting!"

          The soldier sighed and drained his milk.  Crumbling his napkin into a ball, he tossed it into the garbage and followed the scientist, who beamed triumphantly and started outside.  It was useless to resist Harrison when he was in this mood.  The best way to keep his sanity, he'd discovered, was to just go with the flow.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Paul eyed the Ferris Wheel looming over buildings a few blocks away and glanced at Blackwood.  The scientist was humming under his breath as he drove, fingers tapping the wheel, a cherubic smile lurking around his lips.  The soldier looked back at the huge ride and sighed.  The very fact that Harrison hadn't let him drive made him suspect that it was because once he discovered where they were going he would've turned around and driven straight back to the Cottage.

          The Ferris Wheel loomed larger, and Harrison's smile faded as the increasing numbers of pedestrians forced him to concentrate on his driving.  Pulling into a parking garage, he took the token offered by the machine, swinging around several corners before finding an empty space, which he quickly filled.  The engine died on command, and a silence touched with faraway screams and carnival music filled the car.

          Harrison rolled up his window and pushed open the door, looking back when Paul didn't follow suit on his own side.

          "I am _not_ going to a carnival, Blackwood."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Paul looked at the spinning, tumbling ride they were about to enter and then across at Blackwood, a gleam in the black eyes.  Harrison's obvious assumption that the ride would unsettle the soldier showed an ignorance of his background that was just about to be his undoing.  Just how well could the scientist handle the rides, Ironhorse wondered, a small smile lifting the corners of his mouth, vanishing as Harrison turned back to him.

          "Ready, Colonel?"

          "Any time, Doctor."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Fifteen minutes later, Paul followed the scientist off the ride and toward the next one, exuberantly called the Knock-Out.  And so it went for the next hour, an impromptu competition between the two men to see who broke first.

          Ironhorse vowed it would not be him.  He deliberately submerged his own problem into the thrills of the moment, reminding himself when it surfaced that this might well be his last time of 'having fun' with Blackwood.  But still, the bleakness ambushed him at increasingly frequent intervals, and at last, as he took the huge mass of cotton candy the scientist handed him, he sighed.

          "Doctor, what is the point of this?"

          Harrison looked at him, abruptly ultra-focused and serious.  "Paul, magic is something we make ourselves.  Field trips are—"

          Ironhorse lost the words as his eyes caught a woman standing in line at a nearby booth.  At first he didn't know what about her had set off his internal alarms, but on closer inspection, he frowned.  Sores, on the back of her neck.  His frown deepened as she bought a drink and took it back to a table full of young teens, all wearing Girl Scout uniforms and badges.

          Harrison had stopped speaking as Paul's attention was diverted, and now he turned, his eyes finding the soldier's target without a problem.

          He glanced back at Ironhorse, his eyebrows peaking at the colonel's quiet use of the small Geiger counter they all carried.

          "Problems, Colonel?"

          In answer, the soldier turned the machine so he could read it, though the soft high-pitched buzz told the scientist all he needed to know.

          "Problems," was the grim reply.

          They drifted closer to the group, who were cleaning up in preparation to leave. No other adults were to be seen, and Paul's eyes narrowed as they all rose, the teens chattering excitedly.

          "Where are they going?" he muttered.

          A few minutes later Harrison pointed ahead.  "The funhouse, Colonel."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "Harrison, stay behind me," the soldier ordered as they stepped into the revolving tunnel.

          "Anything you say, Colonel."

          That response was sufficiently unusual to earn a backward glance from the soldier.  Harrison was slightly pale and sweating, but the glance he gave Ironhorse was determined.  "I never enjoyed these parts of the funhouse," he admitted.

          Paul nodded.  "Follow me."

          Turning back, he strode on through the tunnel, moving lightly across its corrugated bottom. Stepping out, he heard a slight noise behind and turned.  The tunnel behind was empty.

          "Damn," the soldier breathed.  Trap door of some kind, most likely a slide.

          An excited squeal ahead turned him back to face that direction, and he hesitated.  But the chances of his finding that damn trap door were slim, and hopefully Harrison would end up ahead somewhere.  The sooner he neutralized the aliens, the better.  He moved ahead, quick but silent.

          Cat-footing his way through another revolving tunnel, a room full of strobe lights, and a hallway haunted by pirate shrieks and ghostly moans, Paul paused at the foot of a short flight of stairs.  He could see the hall of mirrors through the wide doorway above, and Harrison's reflection glimmered at him, as well as those of several young girls.  He paused, tension gnawing at him.  His battle sense was humming, and he charged up the stairs just as he saw the alien woman glimmer into being behind Harrison's reflection.

          The scientist's involved smile wavered, then failed as he felt the alien presence, and he whirled.

          Paul fell flat and slid back down the suddenly smooth stairs.  His eyes focused only on the ensuing drama above, he saw Harrison dodge the alien's grab, ducking the third arm, which shot out with such force that the alien misjudged the glass-reflected distance and the limb slammed into the mirror backing Harrison.

          Scrabbling frantically on the slick tiles, Ironhorse's hands found the edge of the stairway and he worked to pull himself upward.

          Too late, too late…  The refrain drummed in his mind.

          The woman pulled her hand back, howling, the alien language harsh on her lips.  Harrison took advantage of the distraction and slipped through a mirrored doorway, sliding away from her swift grasp.

          The brief respite gave the colonel time to reach the top of the stair, stepping into the mirrored chamber.  He paused, glancing from side to side.  Harrison's reflection danced on seven of the mirrored walls, as did the woman's.  Two men, their reflections revealing them as off to one side, were moving in on the scientist, obviously distracted from their first mission of capturing the girls, whose happy shrieks ahead showed they had no idea of the gruesome drama being played out behind them.

          Stepping quickly into the mirrored maze, Ironhorse focused on discovering the pattern.  If he could just figure it out soon enough, there was a chance he could reach Harrison in time. 

          But the scientist himself was hindering that plan, blundering blindly through the maze, trying to lose the aliens in its shifting, winding hallways.  In doing so, however, he was making it impossible for Paul to predict his next move, much less get there before him.

          Later, looking back, Paul realized it had all only taken a few minutes, but at the time, it seemed to happen with all the slow motion of a waking nightmare.  He watched Harrison trapped, the woman advancing on him from one side, one of the men from another, the third backing the woman.  There was no escape, and Harrison shrank back against the mirrored wall at his back, which, unfortunately, was the only one in a direct line with Paul's gun.

          He lowered the weapon hopelessly, gaze riven to the grotesque tableau in spite of his intense desire to look away.  He stumbled, glancing down at the raised tile.  Letters danced before his eyes, but all he saw was the small button in its surface, and without questioning the impulse, he stepped upon it.

          Every glass wall immediately swiveled on well-oiled hinges, opening the maze to the world.  Harrison, plastered against a wall, fell helplessly to the floor, the alien's third arm missing again, and before either she or her two companions could react, Ironhorse's gun spat.

          Frozen in a gunman's crouch, Paul watched numbly as the aliens melted, Harrison rolling away with haste.  Something tickled his knee, and looking down, he picked up the feather that lay there, gleaming in the light.  An eagle feather.

          He looked upward, his shoulders finally relaxing, and the world slid into place around him with an almost audible click.  "Thank you, Grandfather."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Paul finished his warm-up exercises and started across the Cottage grounds for his early morning run.  There was a quick pounding of feet, and Harrison slid into pace beside him, glancing at him hopefully.

          Paul looked ahead, controlling the quirk of his mouth with an effort.  Harrison had been watching him ever since yesterday afternoon, when he had come home and immediately closed and locked his office door behind him.  He had paperwork to finish.

          "Nice day," Harrison ventured.

          Ironhorse grunted, eyes on the path.

          "I hear Mrs. Pennyworth is planning a special dinner."

 _Bribery won't work, either, Doctor_.  "Yes, I know."  A beat, then he added, just as he heard Harrison's drawn breath, "I requested it."

          "Oh," said Harrison, not sure whether he should feel deflated or hopeful.  He took a breath.  "Paul, about yesterday—"

          "I'm staying."

          Caught off balance, literally and figuratively, Harrison stumbled.  Catching himself, he turned wide eyes on the soldier.  "Really?  You are?  You're sure?  You—"

          Paul's mouth quirked.  "Yes, Harrison, I'm sure.  I told General Wilson last evening."

          Harrison stopped, facing Ironhorse as the soldier paused.  His voice very quiet, he asked soberly, "Did you find the magic, Paul?"

          "Yes, Harrison, I did."  The soldier looked at him, serious now.  "Thanks to you."

          The scientist blinked.  "Me?  What did I do?"

          The questioning tone reminded Paul of a five-year-old defending himself against the vagaries of the adult world.  A world, he reminded himself, that Harrison seldom participated in to the same extent as the rest of them.

          "You, Doctor, ignored my specific orders to stay behind me."  He started running again, heading up the slight rise that gave an excellent view of both the house and the ocean.

          "Me?" Harrison sputtered, racing to catch up.  "I fell through a trap door, Colonel!  Even you have to admit that that's hardly an act of choice!"

          "No, Blackwood," Paul replied, swinging around a boulder and gaining the hilltop, "I call it your usual enactment of rushing in where angels fear to tread.  Something you really must work on, Doctor."

          "Now wait just a minute, Colonel…"

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Seated on the patio, Suzanne and Norton smiled at each other across the breakfast table.

          "Well," Suzanne said as she sipped her coffee in measured sips under Norton's watchful eye, "it sounds like they've made it up."

          "Yep," the computer hacker grinned, cocking his head as the voices rose in volume, then faded.  "Ain't love grand?"

          "What a beautiful day this is," Mrs. Pennyworth smiled as she brought out a tray full of muffins.

          "Absolutely," Suzanne and Norton agreed in unison.


End file.
